


Walking on a String

by sequence_fairy



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Tho someone doesn't realise it's mutual until the other is literally in his lap, see also:, so there's that, this is softer than it lets on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:34:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22528666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: As he’s reaching over his shoulder with his loofah, to soap the back of his neck, Ryan’s thoughts stray, as usual, to Shane.Shane and his shoulders; the way they shift and move beneath his shirts. Shane’s hands; capable, deceptively-delicate, long-fingered, big enough to wrap all the way around one of Ryan’s wrists.Ryan's pining, he knows, but it's just that Shane is well, Shane.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 28
Kudos: 426
Collections: The Ghosts Are Watching





	Walking on a String

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uneventfulhouses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uneventfulhouses/gifts).



> For Yesi, who asked for mutual pining, costumes, and fingering. I think I hit all these notes. 
> 
> Thanks to [Ember](http://emberglows.tumblr.com/) for the beta. You make everything so much better, baby. 
> 
> The working title for this was Ryan's Masturbatory Misadventures, but then it got soft in the middle so I had to change it.

Ryan keeps having inappropriate boners. 

They’re absolutely not about how Shane a) has worn and rocked a cheerleader costume, b) rolls up his shirt sleeves when he drives and does that stupid cool guy thing where he rests his elbow on the window ledge and taps out the rhythm of the song on the stereo on the top of the doorframe, c) is tall, d) smiled at him in the canteen at work last week like he had a secret that Ryan would really like to know. 

He’s just having circulation issues. Or maybe he’s extra horny lately. Ryan doesn’t know. He’s just kind of tired of nearly always being at least semi-hard around Shane these days. It’s like once it happened the first time, his body has decided that Shane’s the perfect target onto which it should pin all of his current sexual frustration. 

Ryan is really not on board with this whole thing. 

It’s especially bad recently, because they’re travelling, and the budget’s tighter than it’s ever been and they’ve gone from each having their own room to sprawl out in, to having to share. This would not usually be a problem; they’ve shared before. Except for Ryan’s current situation. 

And what a situation it is. 

They’d had to run from the car, through the parking lot, in a sudden drenching rain. They’re absolutely soaked through. Shane’s button down clings to his shoulders and his hair drips down the back of his neck. Ryan is absolutely not following the path of the drips, watching them slip beneath the collar of Shane’s shirt. He is absolutely not thinking about tracing the trail of them, down the line of Shane’s spine, with his tongue. Absolutely not.

Shane shivers, and shakes his head. “We need hot showers or we’ll get fucking pneumonia.” 

Ryan agrees. A shower sounds great. He shivers, too. 

“You go first,” Shane says, looking over at Ryan from where he’s emptying his pockets onto the dresser. Shane’s wallet, keys, transparent green lighter and the pocketknife he carries out of habit join their room keys on the surface.

Ryan doesn’t wait to be told twice to have the first shower. 

As he lets the water in the shower run to heat up, Ryan strips. His wet clothes stick to his body, and he struggles to pull off his skinny jeans. Ryan has to sit down to work off his socks, and leaves everything in a heap on the floor. He’ll sort it out when he’s warm again. For a moment, he stands naked in front of the mirror.

He’s cold, clearly, but even in the rapidly humidifying air of the bathroom, Ryan’s nipples are pebbled. He rolls his eyes at himself and turns away from the mirror.

Pulling back the curtain, Ryan gets into the shower. Steam rises and the water is deliciously hot. There’s nothing like late night hotel showers for exquisitely hot water. Ryan tips his head back under the spray, relishing the warmth that blooms in the wake of the sluicing water. 

Washing his hair is quick work, but Ryan takes his time soaping up the rest of himself. He wants to be warm through to his bones when he gets out, and the best way to do that is to have the right length of very hot shower. 

As he’s reaching over his shoulder with his loofah, to soap the back of his neck, Ryan’s thoughts stray, as usual, to Shane. 

Shane and his shoulders; the way they shift and move beneath his shirts. Shane’s hands; capable, deceptively-delicate, long-fingered, big enough to wrap all the way around one of Ryan’s wrists. Shane might even be able to hold both of Ryan’s wrists in one hand. The thought makes Ryan shiver for a reason unrelated to the previous chill of the rainwater. 

An oh-so-familiar feeling stirs behind his navel. Ryan bites his lip. He shouldn’t, not here, not with Shane just on the other side of the door, waiting for Ryan to be done so he can have his shower and get warm, too. Ryan’s hand strays south anyway, and he skims his palm along the hardening length of his dick. 

Shane might be stripping right now. Might be pulling off his wet clothes, leaving his skin dewy and kissed all over with goosebumps. Would Shane struggle out of his skinny pants or would they slide easily down over his narrow hips? Ryan’s grip on himself tightens as he thinks about it. He slides his hand up and down his length, soapy water easing the way. 

Ryan squeezes, fucking up into the circle of his fingers – thinking about the water droplets he watched run down the back of Shane’s neck; thinking about the warm press of Shane’s hand between his shoulder blades once they’d reached the lobby doors; thinking about the flash of Shane’s thighs when he’d been doing wall balls in a skirt. Ryan’s breath hitches, and he bites down more firmly on his lip. 

Ryan thinks about the weight of Shane above him, about the way his eyes would shine with sly promise. He thinks about Shane’s mouth, thinks about how Shane would look up at him from between his thighs, thinks about the press of Shane’s fingers, thinks about how Shane would open him up and take him apart with deliberate precision. Ryan closes his eyes. He thinks about the bar of Shane’s forearm across his throat– 

Ryan comes all over one of his hands, the other pressed against his mouth to stop himself from making a sound. 

He slumps back against the cool tile, breathing hard. 

Well. That is an interesting development. 

===

For the entirety of Shane’s shower, Ryan stews. 

Not only are his reactions to his coworker and friend highly inappropriate and seeming more and more likely to wind up with him hauled in for a very stern meeting with HR. Which, in turn, would probably end with him holding a box of his desk’s knick-knacks, standing on the sidewalk out front of the building… but the fantasies are still increasingly difficult to talk down. 

Frankly, Ryan decides, as he digs a pair of socks out of his bag, this many boners cannot be healthy. All that blood rushing in different directions has got to have some long-term side effects. Not to mention, it’s starting to make it hard for him to be in the same room as Shane for longer than five minutes. Ryan sits down on the bed he’s claimed as his and pulls his socks on. 

Maybe he needs a break. Maybe this is just a side-effect of, like, over-exposure therapy. He’s had too much of Shane lately; they’ve been trapped in too many cars and crammed beside each other on too many planes. Once this filming trip is over, things will go back to normal and Ryan will be able to get some distance and some perspective. 

He really hopes so. Really, really hopes so. Because Shane comes out of the bathroom, towel slung low around his hips, and Ryan feels his dick get a little interested. It’s impossible. He’s not a 17 year old boy anymore, he’s already come once tonight, and this is starting to get absolutely ridiculous. Ryan drags his eyes away from Shane, who is completely oblivious to Ryan’s predicament while he paws through his bag. 

“Aha!” Shane says, triumphant and turns around, waving something at Ryan. At first, Ryan doesn’t register what it is, but then he realises. It’s Shane’s toothbrush. “Found it!” Shane crows, and then he’s walking back into the bathroom. 

Ryan looks down at his own lap, then up to the ceiling. He almost wishes he still prayed. Though, perhaps, in this case, praying would be ill-advised. Ryan’s not sure about the nuance on the godly policies regarding masturbation, but he’s pretty certain that it’s generally frowned upon. At least, he remembers it being something you did not do, so it’s probably a safe bet that masturbating to fantasies of your friend wearing a skirt are perhaps an even bigger no. 

Ryan squeezes his eyes shut. 

They’ll be back in L.A. tomorrow. The space will help.

===

Surprisingly, the space doesn’t help. 

In fact, Ryan decides, it’s actually worse now than it was when he was practically living out of Shane’s pockets. 

Now there’s too much time. Ryan has too many opportunities for his thoughts to wander. Too many chances for his control to falter and it’s too easy to forget that he’s not supposed to be staring after Shane like a lovesick puppy when he does see him. 

It’s untenable, is what it is. Ryan needs to resolve this problem or someone is going to notice. 

===

The last week before the season launch is always crazy. Ryan spends most of it in a haze of exhaustion, over-caffeination, and manic productivity. 

“Hey bud,” Shane says, voice soft. His hand comes down on Ryan’s shoulder, squeezes briefly, and then moves off. “Do you need anything?” 

Ryan lifts his head up from where it’s pillowed on his crossed arms. He blinks, turning his head to find Shane. Shane’s hair is messy from where he’s been running his hands through it, and the shadow of stubble darkens his cheeks. Shane offers him a smile. It’s brief and doesn’t bloom fully. 

“You should go,” Ryan says. “I’m just waiting for it to render the final cut.” 

“Naw,” Shane says, dropping into his chair beside Ryan. “Can’t leave you to have all the fun.” 

Something warm blooms in Ryan’s chest. He can feel himself smiling at Shane, in a way that is most assuredly dopey and stupid, but he can’t help it. 

“Thanks,” Ryan says. He yawns, jaw cracking, and then flicks his gaze up at his monitor. “Aw no, come  _ on _ .” 

The rendering is stalled out about halfway through, an error message blinking determinedly on the screen.

“Hey, what?” Shane leans over into Ryan’s space. He smells good. Warm. Shane’s close enough that Ryan can feel the heat off him. It’s almost distracting enough. Almost. 

“Fucking fuck,” Ryan swears. He glares at his computer screen and then sighs, defeated. Ryan slumps back in his chair. Shane reaches across in front of him, accepts the warning message, saves Ryan’s last edit and closes the program. 

“Go home,” Shane says, when Ryan makes a noise of protest. “Email this to me, I’ll watch it. You need to sleep.” 

Ryan shoves a hand through his hair. “I won’t sleep,” he says. 

“Try,” Shane suggests. “For me?”

Shane’s request is so sincere. Ryan wants to acquiesce, but he also knows that even if he goes home, he won’t sleep. He’ll be up all night worrying about missing their deadline. He pushes away from his desk and bumps Shane’s chair in the process, jostling Shane and making his friend draw back. 

“I can’t promise anything,” Ryan says, but he hooks his foot around the strap of his bag to drag it out from under the desk. 

“Go home. Have a shower. Eat something green. I’ll call you when it’s done.” 

===

Ryan’s phone ringing splits the silence of his apartment several hours later. He fumbles for it, hand knocking into his glasses where he’d set them on the coffee table after sprawling out on his couch once he’d showered and changed. 

“‘Lo?” he mumbles, into the receiver. 

“Render is done,” Shane says. Then, “Did you eat?” 

Ryan makes a non-committal noise into the phone. 

Shane sighs. “Ryan. What am I going to do with you?” 

“Dunno,” Ryan replies. “Take care of me, maybe?” 

The moment the words leave his mouth, Ryan’s teeth clack shut. He can feel his heart rate pick up, and as the silence stretches between them, his stomach starts to turn with nerves. 

“Someone should,” Shane says, eventually. “Might as well be me.” 

Ryan exhales. He scrubs a hand through his hair. The idea has merit, Ryan can admit. He would like very much to be taken care of, and to have Shane do it? That’s just icing on a cake he didn’t know he was going to get to eat.

“I’m coming over. Be dressed,” Shane says, and then hangs up. Ryan stares down at his phone in his hand, feeling a little bit like he missed out on half the conversation. 

Ryan loses several minutes before he shakes himself and stands up. He is dressed, thank you very much, but he putters through the apartment picking up dishes and shoving his shoes into the closet and hanging up the four different hoodies he’d been using as a pillow on the couch. 

By the time Shane texts him to say he’s downstairs, Ryan’s apartment looks a little more presentable and he’s stayed busy enough not to get nervous about Shane showing up after that conversation. 

Shane knocks on Ryan’s door. 

“It’s open,” Ryan says, over his shoulder, from where he’s standing in front of the fridge. He’d thought he still had two of the beers Shane liked from the last time he’d been over, but he can’t seem to find them now. 

Shane comes in and kicks off his shoes before joining Ryan in the kitchen. “Here,” he says, handing Ryan a take out container. “Go sit. Eat.”

Ryan takes what is handed to him and then the utensils that Shane pushes on him, and allows himself to be directed back to the couch. Shane carries his own take out container and follows Ryan out of the kitchen. 

“Sit,” Shane repeats and Ryan does. He opens the container and inhales. It’s from the Thai place down the block that Shane knows Ryan likes. Shane cracks his own container open and selects a fork from the handful of plastic utensils he carried with him from the kitchen.

For a long moment, Ryan doesn’t eat, just sits staring at the food in front of him. He’s hungry, but he’s also exhausted. It’s been a very long week and he’s kind of feeling only about forty-five percent like a human. 

“So,” Shane says, lifting a spring roll to his mouth. He bites down, then licks his fingers. Ryan watches. Shane sets the remaining half of the spring roll back into his container of noodles and picks up his fork. “It turns out that it was a corrupted animation file that caused the rendering error,” Shane says. “I fixed that, and then it worked, lickety-split.” 

Ryan finds himself fork in hand and bite most of the way to his mouth. “Thanks,” he says, and then, finally, eats. Shane keeps talking in between eating his own meal, and Ryan keeps listening and keeps eating, shoveling in forkful after forkful, nodding along to Shane as he narrates what he’d been up to most of the day before finding Ryan suffering at their shared desk space. 

Eventually, the bowls are empty and Ryan leans back. Shane stands and gathers up the refuse. Ryan makes an aborted move to help, but Shane waves him off. 

“You gotta take better care of yourself,” Shane says when he comes back. He’s found the two beers Ryan couldn’t locate in the fridge earlier and hands one to Ryan, keeping the other for himself. Ryan twists off the cap of his beer barehanded, while Shane uses his shirt for his. “You can’t keep burning the candle in four different places.” 

“I know,” Ryan says. He does know, but he also doesn’t know how to stop doing it. He’s always pushing, always trying to do more and more with less time. It doesn’t help that their work environment absolutely encourages running themselves into the ground. Ryan takes a swallow of his beer. Shane brings his own to his mouth. 

They’re sitting on the couch, close enough that Ryan can feel Shane’s body heat again. The warmth of him next to Ryan is a comfort. Something Ryan knows he can trust. He can relax around Shane in a way that he can’t always around other people. 

“I just worry about you, is all,” Shane says, and sets his beer down on Ryan’s coffee table. He turns slightly so he can look more fully at Ryan. “You know you can always ask me for help.” 

“I know,” Ryan replies. He also knows this. It’s just that he doesn’t like to seem like he can’t handle what’s thrown at him. He’s always been bad at asking for help. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been as much help lately,” Shane says, and reaches out to tap Ryan on the knee with two fingers. The feeling goes through Ryan like a knife. He jolts. Shane takes his hand away. 

“No, don’t,” Ryan says, before he can stop himself. “I mean, ah, it’s no big deal. I know you’re busy.” 

“Not that busy,” Shane says. He picks up his beer, and toys with the label for a moment. When he looks back up at Ryan, there’s something vulnerable around his eyes. Ryan almost can’t look at him. The expression on Shane’s face is too familiar. 

“Shane?” Ryan asks. 

Shane sets his hand down, deliberate, just above Ryan’s knee. “I want to take care of you,” Shane says. Ryan’s breath escapes him in a rush. His stomach turns over in a swoop of nerves. Shane’s hand is a warm weight on Ryan’s thigh. 

“I–” Ryan starts. His throat is dry. He swallows. He can’t look away from Shane’s eyes. 

“I’ve been wanting,” Shane says, and he’s getting closer. Ryan can feel himself mirroring Shane. They’re drawing towards each other like bodies in a collapsing orbit, pulled together by each other’s gravity, and Ryan’s halfway sure this isn’t really happening. Ryan licks his lips and watches as Shane’s gaze flicks down and then back up. “Tell me to stop,” Shane says, a little bit desperately, but Ryan can’t, any more than he could achieve escape velocity under his own power. 

Shane’s mouth on his is better than anything Ryan ever imagined. Shane tastes a little like the beer they’d drank, but mostly he just tastes like himself, and Ryan’s fantasies had never managed to capture that. Just like they’d never managed to capture the real heat of Shane’s palm against his cheek. 

Ryan might have spent hours imagining the way it would feel to have Shane’s weight against him, or how it would be to slide his hand down the line of Shane’s spine and feel Shane arch into the touch. He might have thought he’d be able to live without the reality of Shane’s mouth, hot against the side of his neck, but Ryan would be wrong. He would be so wrong. 

Shane pulls away, lifting himself up so he can look down at Ryan. His face is flushed, colour riding high on his cheeks, and his mouth is red and kiss-swollen. Ryan wants to push up and bite at his lips; make Shane hiss against the brief smarting pain of the bite before Ryan can soothe it, make him shudder and gasp, make him feel all the things Ryan has imagined him feeling for so long. 

“Is this okay?” Shane asks. His thumb sweeps across Ryan’s cheek. Ryan’s eyes close and he leans into the touch.

“Yeah,” Ryan nods, opening his eyes again to look up at Shane. Shane’s looking down at him, and Ryan watches as Shane’s smile blooms across his face. Ryan can’t help but smile back.

Shane leans back in, and Ryan forgets to be worried about anything other than the exchange of their breath and how quickly he can get Shane’s shirt off and have more of Shane’s skin under his hands and mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> Please come and chat with me about my fic on [tumblr](http://sequencefairy.tumblr.com) or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/warpspeed_chic).


End file.
